


Sleeping Slows This

by You_Light_The_Sky



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Don't copy to another site, M/M, Post CA:CW, Suicidal Thoughts, Yeah so I don't awknowledge Infinity War because I techincally wrote this back in 2016, non-canon, trying to live
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-18
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-11-22 16:20:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18138578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/You_Light_The_Sky/pseuds/You_Light_The_Sky
Summary: Post CACW. Slightly AU. Like a fairytale, the Winter Soldier sleeps within his ice casket in a faraway kingdom and Steve? Well, Steve has no idea what his role should be. He waits, off in the sidelines. He fights, when people need him. He tells stories, to a man who might wake up one day.





	Sleeping Slows This

**Author's Note:**

> I actually wrote the first five scenes in 2016 after watching CA:CW. I have mixed feelings about the film. I don't think MCU does a good job at showing character development or deep feelings so I was trying to reconcile my image of the characters with the film's portrayal. Then I got stuck on how T'Challa should be and what Wakanda was like. So I waited till Black Panther came out. By then, I was disillusioned with the MCU save for Black Panther. Fandom didn't make me as happy. But lately I've been rereading my old MCU fics and it made me want to finish this.
> 
> This piece makes me think of my own depression and how it works so that was also difficult to get back into the headspace for. But I wanted to finish it. I hope you enjoy!

**Before:**

“…You should’ve just left me in Bucharest…”

The cold hits Steve’s face as if he’s being slammed face first against a speeding train. But he keeps dragging their feet through the snow, towards the plane.

He doesn’t answer Bucky. If he does, he doesn’t know if he’ll start sobbing or shouting. Possibly both. And Bucky’s hurt and needs medical attention, not Steve breaking down.

So he keeps walking.

“Steve,” Bucky’s breath ghosts over his ear, “…Listen to me… Not too late… Just go back.”

He thinks of the shield Howard made for him. He thinks of how he tried to go to war to do the right thing, do his part; but mostly, he just didn’t want Bucky to be out there alone. He thinks of how heavy that shield first was, when Howard grinned at him and all Steve could think then was that he’d be carrying this role of ‘Captain America’ to his possible grave.

Then he remembers the rage in Tony’s eyes, the betrayal clawing out for a punching bag (any would do) as if Howard were looking back, demanding, _What happened to Captain America?_

(He’s a shell, he’s always been a shell, and Steve’s the ghost that no one sees, that no one _knows_ , and he’s this much closer to passing on—)

“Till the end of the line, Buck,” he says out of habit. Those are the words he clings to every day, ever since he decided to fly a plane into the ocean.

 _It was too late a long time ago_ , Steve doesn’t say.

Bucky chokes, half laughing, half gasping. He almost falls over but Steve holds onto him tight.

“…Damn punk…” he hisses.

But Bucky’s remaining hand tightens over Steve and for a moment, the cold feels softer somehow.

*

**Now:**

“…Hey Buck,” Steve whispers to the glass casket.

Sunlight touches the ice trapped inside the glass. Just looking at the casket makes Steve shiver (“ _I’m taking the plane down, Peggy,” he whispers, while his mind screams Bucky, Bucky, Bucky, I’m going to fall with you now—_ ) but he doesn’t turn away.

“Came back with the others today,” he sits down. “Sam seems really happy to see me but I can’t help but wish he didn’t have to be labelled a criminal for it… At least Scott’s already got a criminal record and apparently a secret lab to hide in… But Wanda, poor kid… She’s stuck with me and Sam for now. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad she’s not locked up anymore, but she deserves better than the shit she went through… God, and _Clint_. At least no one else knows about his family and T’Challa helped him relocate somewhere else in case Tony… Well. You know.”

He shifts back in his chair, glancing just once to the gorgeous forests through the window. No one would think that there’s a man frozen in time in the middle of such a hot country.

“…I sent him a letter actually.”

The machines hooked up to the casket only continue to beep in response.

Steve chuckles into his hands. “Yeah, I know. It’s stupid. He’ll never forgive me for this… but I couldn’t just let things end like this between me and him… just like I couldn’t let them lock Wanda up… couldn’t let them kill you. … I guess… I guess, I’m just tired.”

Silence.

“Sorry. Shouldn’t be ranting to you like this. Probably disturbing a peaceful dream of Brooklyn or dancing in July. Or backpacking in Spain, I guess. Do you even remember dancing in—actually, can you even dream in stasis? I didn’t even ask before…”

He should have. Sooner. He should have said a lot of things differently. _Did you dream when HYDRA put you in cryo? Did you dream after you pulled me from the river?_ Steve dreams too much sometimes. The reason he runs so much in the mornings is so he can avoid it. But Bucky wouldn’t want to hear that. Maybe Bucky isn’t even dreaming. Maybe he’s lost in nightmares but no, that would be too cruel. Steve hopes for a kind dream. A good one.

Steve glances back at the casket, at Bucky’s face painted over in crystals and crystals of frost.

He doesn’t say _I miss you_ or _please wake up soon_ or _I used to hate and love sleeping because I’d want to dream about you._ Instead, he puts on a smile and starts telling Bucky a story about Wanda being dressed up by T’Challa’s bodyguards and Sam picking up birdwatching. He doesn’t bother telling Bucky about the Killmonger fiasco that T’Challa dealt with last week, no. Bucky can hear about it when he wakes up.

Maybe if he tells Bucky enough happy stories, Bucky will dream of something good. Something nice.

*

T’Challa knocks on the door after an hour has passed. “That’s all the time we can grant you today, Captain Rogers,” he looks regretful, “our scientists need to get back to work for your friend.”

“Ah, yes,” Steve almost stumbles out of his chair. “Please tell them thank you for me, your highness. I really appreciate this. I know my visits take up their time…”

T’Challa grins. “You hardly need to thank us for giving you what moments we can spare with your friend, Captain Rogers. I’m not sure what they taught you in the States but here in Wakanda we believe that healing comes from a balance between science and faith. Your presence probably helps more than you think.”

Steve looks around at the computer screens monitoring Bucky’s vitals.

“…I dunno about that… Also, you don’t need to keep calling me Captain Rogers, your highness, I never earned that title. It was sort of thrown at me…”

“Just as you address me with respect, I will do the same.”

He tries not to think of Erskine dying, of _stay a good man_ , of politicians turning him away and making him dance on a string. Sometimes he felt more like sick Steve Rogers stuck in an idol’s body, unable to crawl out, while Captain America ran around with his name. He hadn’t cared back then, because living in another person’s body meant saving lives. Now he finds that he misses his old body, if only because he doesn’t know who Steve Rogers is these days.

“…I don’t know if I deserve it… but thank you.”

T’Challa studies Steve for a moment. “After my father died… there were times where I wasn’t sure if I deserved the title of King, let alone a Prince. I still have my doubts, especially when I learned of what my father did to my cousin Eric.”

Steve almost stops.

“Your highness, I’m so s—”

“Please don’t look at me like that, my friend,” T’Challa shrugs sadly, “I am coping in my own way… just like you.”

“T’Challa…”

“It’s the small things, sometimes, that truly defines what kind of person you are… and I know that your friend appreciates everything you’ve done for him.”

Steve laughs but the sound comes out hollow. “It’s hard to keep believing that.”

“…That’s what makes you worthy of the name.”

Steve blinks up at T’Challa in confusion, but the prince only smiles and leads him out the door to his team.

Slowly, Steve follows.

*

**Before:**

Seeing Black Panther next to their plane makes Steve numb. He can barely feel his own fingers anymore, as he curls them into a fist. _Are you sure you want to punch your way out of this?_ Natasha had asked him once (and God, he wishes she was here, he could use her help). _No_ , he wanted to answer back then, _I don’t want to hurt anyone_. But how else is he supposed to stop the world from killing what’s left of his Bucky? How else is he supposed to move forward?

“…Shit _,_ ” Bucky says against his ear, “does this guy ever quit? I just wanted some plums…”

Steve has no idea what plums have to do with this but he hopes he’ll get to ask later. For now, he’ll have to fight. He reaches out for the weight of his shield except it’s not there, and Steve can’t help but feel like it’s losing a limb. Something he took for granted too.

Fine. He’s fought without a shield before. If he has to, he’ll use his own body to cover Bucky and—

Black Panther has his hands up in the universal sign for surrender. His face looks oddly vulnerable without the mask. By his feet lies Zemo, tied up by the ankles and wrists.

“I realize I’ve made a mistake,” Black Panther speaks first, “and I’d like to make amends—”

“ _Keep him away from me!_ ” Bucky pulls back, nearly falling against the snow. He pulls Steve down too, dragging him with all the strength left in his body.

“Wait—”

“Bucky,” Steve starts, but then he sees Zemo whispering scattered words into the wind, ‘longing, rusted, seventeen—’ and Steve remembers the incident at the military base.

“He’s trying to trigger Bucky again, stop him!” Steve moves forward, unwilling to let go of Bucky, but desperate to clamp his hand over Zemo too.

Black Panther’s eyes widen in horror and before Zemo can finish the seventh word, he slams his hand over Zemo’s mouth.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s _okay_ ,” Steve finds himself curling over Bucky, shielding him from Zemo’s sight. They curl up like that against the snow, wrapped tight, icy tears falling on both of them, while T’Challa watches in mute horror.

*

**Now:**

“…What are we going to do now?” Wanda asks.

They like to watch the ocean from here sometimes, whenever they pop in for a visit, or for a mission that T’Challa, Nakia, or Shuri happen to _accidentally_ drop their way. Steve often finds himself flinching when he thinks of it lately, when he remembers what it was like to be flying into its expanse, only to be caught up in ice and cold and—

“I’m not sure,” Steve sighs. “…What… what do you want to do? You don’t have to keep fighting with us, you know.”

There always seems to be war, where Steve walks. Or maybe where war walks, Steve wakes up.

Wanda blinks and frowns. She spends a few second studying her palms on the railing. “I… like being an avenger. It’s… like family. _You_ make it like family. But…” she stares at the sea again, listens to its waves, “bad things are still happening out there. Things that the UN will not react to right away. And I have so many sins I have to atone for…”

Steve’s throat goes dry. “Wanda…”

“I know what you will say. But I cannot help how I feel. I am guilty… for _so_ much. I helped Ultron… I got that building destroyed… so many people gone… I wish to redeem myself. Please. Steve. Will you help me?”

He thinks of photos of the dead he tried to tattoo into his mind. He thinks of all the funerals he tried to attend but could never find time for all of them. Tony’s parents. Peggy.

This thing called guilt is a disease that will never be logical. Wanda’s just a kid. She shouldn’t have to deal with this. If there’s anything Steve would wish for her, it would be to live. But telling her that would be hypocritical when he dreams of dying.

“…Only if you help me,” he wraps his arm around her.

Maybe, one day at a time, he can fool himself into living for her sake, the team’s sake. Maybe the team will grow so happy, so content, that Steve can vanish with the next flight. Fall and drown and never wake up, story completed.

Maybe.

Their team heads out the next day.

*

**Before:**

“…I’m tempted to cut out his tongue,” Black Panther muses.

Zemo’s words, though muffled, still crawl through the air like sluggish half-dying leeches. He’s just a man, and yet his words have divided them.

No, Steve thinks of Ultron and the Chitauri, maybe the team was divided since it began.

“…He deserves a proper trial. But he should stay away from Bucky,” Steve admits.

“I’m surprised you would let that happen. The justice system in your country is hardly fair,” Black Panther muses, likely thinking of all the criminals that money and privilege saves.

“I can’t just punch everyone to change that. That kind of thing… takes a different kind of hero.” Steve remembers when he tried to be that kind of hero, the type that walked in rallies to support women’s rights, black rights. The kind that got punched in the street for defending another minority. He’s so tired of punching things.

Black Panther studies him, then nods. “What if I were to put him on trial in Wakanda? If you think about it, technically, he is responsible for my father’s murder. I am confident that he would get what he deserves.”

Steve doesn’t know much about Wakanda, but it can’t hurt to try.

“…As long as he doesn’t go near Bucky again.”

Watching the Winter Soldier moan against the seat in pain, Black Panther nods.

*

**Now:**

Steve almost falls out of his chair. For a minute, he fears that he cracked the glass on Bucky’s casket but the glass remains undisturbed. Just as peaceful as Bucky looks.

Wanda laughs a little from the door. “Nightmare?”

Steve does his best not to wince. “Something like that.”

She joins him by Bucky’s casket, staring up at the soldier’s closed eyes. “It’s eerie watching him like this. Don’t you feel scared when you sit here?”

He knows what Wanda means. Is he scared that Bucky might never wake up? That he might become a sleeping soldier, like Steve was, and wake up ninety years later? Completely. Does he lie at night wondering what Hydra’s cryofreeze was like? If it was the only peace Bucky had as the Winter Soldier?

Will Bucky ever want to wake up?

“Hey,” Wanda touches his shoulder. “Trust Shuri. She says she’s got something promising.”

Steve gives a weak smile. “I believe her.” That woman is smarter (and much more approachable) that Tony and Bruce put together. Maybe even smarter than Vision. It’s the waking up part that scares Steve. He still doesn’t know how he’s managed since the Chitauri. It’s like he left Captain America mode on autopilot and deleted the files for Steve Rogers.

“So?” Wanda asks him again. “Do you feel scared?”

“…Sometimes,” Steve admits. He’d only ever tell this to Sam and her. They deserve that truth. “Sometimes, I’m so scared that if I look away, I might wake up in the ice too with him.”

Her grip tightens on his shoulder. “Is that why you talk to him so much?”

“…Yeah. I tell him stories of the places we’ve been to. Y’know, the local legends. Sometimes I make up something happy. Keeps me… keeps _him_ dreaming happy things, hopefully.”

Wanda smiles at him. “Will you tell me one too?”

He can’t ever say no to her.

He spins a tale about a little hobbit trying to steal a jewel from a dragon. But instead of the story’s original ending, of fire and death, the hobbit befriends the dragon. Somehow the hobbit convinces the dragon to part with his gold and to treasure companionship. Somehow the hobbit punches the dwarf king out of his temporary greed and war is somehow avoided. Somehow the hobbit becomes the hero Steve wishes he was.

So small yet words of wit and bravery.

Wanda leans against Steve’s shoulder and murmurs. “That was nice. I wish Pietro could have heard it.”

“Me too, kid, me too…”

*

**Before:**

Steve wonders if this is how Bucky used to feel, when he got sick. As Steve kneels by Bucky’s side, holding his hand, trying to feel his pulse, he wonders why Bucky didn’t leave him sooner.

It hurts so much to wait for him to wake up.

*

**Now:**

Natasha calls him after a disastrous mission.

“Are you an idiot?” she asks.

These days, Steve would say yes.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replies.

“A little birdy and witch told me that you found some evidence on some sort of anti-super-soldier weapon and decided to go after it yourself. Alone.”

“…Not exactly…” He has Okoye. Okoye is cool. She only shrugged and let him join in when he followed along her mission.

“Steve, you can’t just keep rushing off to battle like some… some suicidal maniac. People care about you. Wanda and Sam are waiting for you. Come back, right now.”

“…I can’t.”

He has to make sure the world is safe for Bucky to come back to. He has to make sure Wanda and Sam live. He has to make sure this life of his means something in the end.

“Steve—” Natasha growls.

The call cuts off when he’s hit by an explosion.

*

**Before:**

It’s quiet when Bucky wakes. After the awe over seeing how amazing Wakanda actually is wears off, Bucky and Steve sit together in silence.

It occurs to Steve that, besides the flight from the airport battle, this is the first time they’ve really _talked_ since Bucky remembered Steve. Steve doesn’t even know how much Bucky remembers, if Bucky _wants_ to remember. Maybe Bucky wanted nothing to do with Steve before he came crashing back into his life. Before T’Challa’s father died.

The remains of Bucky Barnes, whoever he is, just looks haunted.

“…I can’t let something like that happen to me again,” he says after what seems like hours and hours of sickening silence. “I can’t, _I won’t_ , let anyone control me again.”

“They won’t. We won’t let them. It’ll be okay, I—”

“You need to let me go back into cryo, Steve.”

Those words shatter whatever remains of Steve’s heart.

“I… What?”

Bucky stares at him the way his nightmares have, dull, bloodshot, lost. “I won’t let anyone use me as a weapon. This is how I’ll pay for my crimes.”

“Bucky, no—” _don’t die, don’t fall, don’t go where I can’t follow_.

“Steve, this is my choice. While the Princess works on a cure, I won’t let any strangers come near me. I’m going back into cryo and I won’t wake up. I need this.”

“But I just got you back!” Steve shouts. No, no, he’s not supposed to say that. He’s supposed to be better this.

“You don’t want me back like this.”

“You don’t know what I want!”

“I’m not the Bucky you knew!”

“Don’t you think I know that?!”

Bucky slams his fist on the bed. “Do you?”

Spots dot Steve’s vision. He feels so cold. Does he? Does he know anything anymore? He can barely remember his mother’s face sometimes…

“…You need to let me go, Steve.”

Steve closes his eyes.

“You need to let me go.”

*

**Now:**

“Bucky…” Steve croaks, even as the doctors stitch up his wounds. Not that he needs it. He’ll heal in time.

“Idiot,” Shuri growls at him, “shut up and sit still. You’re _not_ healing at the rate you normally would. Your serum is slowing down. Now _rest!_ ”

“You gotta… Bucky…”

“For the love of…! Tell your stupid leader to stay still!”

Sam squeezes Steve’s hand. “Bucky’s fine. He’s still in cryo. Worry about yourself, man! Hold on, you have to hold on!”

Steve tries to smile. “Sam…”

“Yeah! Yeah, it’s me, Steve. I’m right here!”

“Sam… you’re… you’re my favourite person Sam…”

He hears him choke up. He hopes Sam remembers to breathe.

“You… you gotta fly away when you can… Sam… fly to a better place…”

“Screw you,” Sam half-sobs, “Wakanda is the best. I’m staying right here and I’m nailing your ass to the ground.”

“Tell… Tell him something happy… Tell Bucky I…”

“No, nope, you’re telling him yourself. Shuri’s gonna fix ya. You’re gonna be fine, Rogers—”

It’s so cold.

“Steve!”

He wonders if this will be his last sleep.

*

**Before:**

“…Okay,” Steve says, while his heart screams _no_. “I’ll support you in whatever you do, Buck. I’m with you.”

 _I love you_.

Bucky only leans against the casket and closes his eyes and he—

Freezes.

*

**???:**

There’s this… there’s this story, you know? About the stupidest guy in all of Brooklyn, he doesn’t care if he’s small, he’ll take on all the world’s pain, even if it squashes him flat. I used to think he was like Atlas. I used to wonder when the world would stomp him quiet, when the world would break his heart.

I guess it didn’t. I guess it did. (No, _I_ did too.)

This little guy, he got a blessing. Some kind of potion thing. I’m not good with metaphors. This blessing made him tall and strong, with a magic shield too. He finally looked like an Atlas that could carry the world. He led people to battle. He punched Nazis in the face. He taught me that being a hero meant always fighting back. He made me think that he was the only good thing in the world.

And I forgot him. You’d say it wasn’t my fault. I still think it is. Guess therapy will help with that. But the point is, I guess I was his something. And he lost me.

See, Atlas with the potion was still just the little guy. And yeah, the little guy’s strong enough to do this on his own. But he shouldn’t have to.

Anyone would stumble with the weight of the world on their own.

He pushes himself and pushes himself. And he forgets that it was the quiet things in him that made him good. His kindness, his drawings, his belief in the good things. Sadness crawls into his veins, where the potion sleeps. Sadness slows down the blessing.

It’s a sad that digs deep, that won’t let go of his heart, and god damn, we’re all so stupid. We think that someone like Atlas can’t possibly be this sad.

But he is.

And I… well, if I could write him a happy ending, I would tell him that his something, his someone, is waiting for him here. I would tell him that we could write a happy ending together. I would tell him that waking is terrifying and cold but he makes me warm.

I would tell him that I slept because I wanted him safe and I wanted to be more whole so I could make _him_ safe in turn.

I’d tell him, the world can carry itself for a day, let us carry _you_.

Because I love you, damn it. Even if I’m broken. And if you’re broken too, maybe we can figure out how this waking thing works together. One day at a time.

The world’s got enough heroes. If they all learn to wake up too.

So.

Waiting on ya, punk.

I’m not leaving this time.

*

**Now:**

He feels something warm on his cheek as he slowly opens his eyes. He wonders if he woke in a fairy tale, because there’s no way Bucky would be kissing him on the cheek or holding him so tenderly by the hand.

“…Hey sleeping beauty,” Bucky whispers softly.

“…Hey yourself.” Steve wonders if a dragon might pop up next and give them gold.

“God damn it, this is _real,_ Steve. You’re awake. You’re okay. And I’m going to punch you when you’re better again,” Sam interjects.

Steve almost falls off the bed. “This is… real? I’m awake?”

Bucky’s nails nearly dig into his wrist. “Do you… want to be awake?”

Steve stares at him, wondering if this is a test. A dream. Another lie.

From behind Bucky, T’Challa nods encouragingly. Shuri puts her thumbs up. Wanda tries to hide her tearful smile and Sam mouths, ‘say yes.’ Natasha just glares in her Natasha way.

“…I don’t know,” he admits, because he’s tired of lying. “But I think do.”

Bucky pulls him close. “Then I’ll keep asking, if you keep asking me.”

Steve closes his eyes and listens to Bucky’s heartbeat.

 _I’m awake,_ he thinks, _I’m awake._

**Author's Note:**

> Always happy to get prompts at my [twitter](https://twitter.com/youlightthesky1), my [writing tumblr](http://youlighttheskyfanfiction.tumblr.com/), or my [art tumblr](https://youlighttheskyart.tumblr.com/)


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